


Countdown

by telanaris



Series: Arcana One-Shots [12]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love Triangle, M/M, Reanimation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 02:32:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15109982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telanaris/pseuds/telanaris
Summary: Three days.Seventy-two sleepless, tortured hours.That is how long Asra has been watching his apprentice watching Julian’s lifeless form. They are immovable, sitting vigil at his side with the patience of a saint. There’s something about the tragedy of it, the stillness, the bright light spilling in from the palace’s tall windows… it reminds Asra of a painting.--------Asra watches as gender neutral MC waits to see when (if?) Julian resurrects after the execution.





	Countdown

**Author's Note:**

> i've been enabled by cedarmoons again. also pffff the devs are gonna ruin me, i'm so freaked out i'm already writing fix-it fics and the update isn't even out yet

 

Three days. 

Seventy-two sleepless, tortured hours. 

That is how long Asra has been watching his apprentice watching Julian’s lifeless form. They are immovable, sitting vigil at his side with the patience of a saint. There’s something about the tragedy of it, the stillness, the bright light spilling in from the palace’s tall windows… it reminds Asra of a painting. 

But Asra cannot bear to spend all that time beside the apprentice, as much as he’d like to be there to comfort them. Their grief is too familiar: three years ago, it was Asra’s own. Losing the apprentice to the Red Plague had driven Asra to the very depths of despair, pushed him to make arcane bargains at terrible cost… all to bring them back. 

If Julian’s harebrained scheme doesn’t work—if the curse doesn’t resurrect him—what lengths will the apprentice be driven to, at the loss of their loved one?

But even when Asra must leave for a respite from the tension, the apprentice is rarely alone. Portia is often by their side. Sometimes, drawing strength from each other, they hold hands. Mazelinka drifts in and out of the palace to check on his progress; faithful as always, Malak perches on the windowsill, watching Julian’s motionless body with curiosity. 

For that matter, they all watch Ilya’s body for any sign of reanimation, though his bold only grows stiffer, colder…grey. 

The coldness of Julian’s flesh does not, however, deter the apprentice from reaching for him. Every so often, they run their hands through his auburn hair, pushing stray curls out of his face. Their fingers smooth his brow; sometimes, they take his hand in theirs, running their thumb over his fingers as though they are trying to run the warmth back into them. 

Once, when the apprentice was alone with Ilya’s lifeless body—when Portia has succumbed to her exhaustion for the night—Asra caught the apprentice singing. He could not make out their words, soft as they were, but the song was rich with love and longing, as if their voice alone might provide a tether to pull Julian back to life. 

On the second day, Asra is struck with a sickening thought: the apprentice has begun to resemble Julian. Or at least, Julian as he looked in life. Their skin has become too pale—gone is the healthy flush of their cheeks. Below their eyes there are purple shadows that only grow deeper as the day wears on. If the apprentice has slept, Asra has not caught them. They have hardly eaten. Hardly had so much as a sip of water. 

The apprentice has only watched. Waited. Their face has been set in the same stoic expression of determination for days, buoyed by some unshaken faith—Julian said he wanted a life with me, he promised—though as the second day folds into the third, Asra watches their confidence begin to falter. 

Asra’s body feels like a live wire, all prickling anxiety and coiled tension. How long will the apprentice continue to wait? Three days: Asra’s hope has long past run out. And there are other matters to attend to. If the plague really is coming back, they need to come up with a plan. Asra will not—cannot—leave his apprentice behind to die a second time, but he does not look forward to the task of tearing them away from the side of their dead lover. 

When noon strikes on the third day, Asra hears screaming. 

He runs all the way from the parlor in which he’d been sharing tea with Nadia to the room where Julian’s body is being kept, his heart in his throat, pulse pounding, footsteps echoing like thunder through the palace’s marble halls. They must have given up hope, he thinks. They must finally have realized he isn’t coming back. 

But the sight that greets him when he runs through the door is not the one he expected to find. The apprentice is sobbing, yes—but these are tears of joy, moistening Julian’s neck, where the apprentice has buried their face. They are clutching Julian, holding him so tightly they have practically pulled him into their lap. 

Julian’s gasping, drawing deep and ragged lungfuls of air; his eyes are wild as he orients himself. His cheeks are flushed pink, the bags beneath his eyes long gone. Death has been kind to him, Asra thinks: Julian looks healthier than Asra’s ever seen him. 

But when he realizes where he is—alive, in the palace—when he realizes whose arms are holding him—he lets loose an unrestrained whoop of delight, before pulling the apprentice’s head out of the crook of his neck and planting his mouth soundly on theirs. 

When Julian pulls away, the grin on his face is the very definition of roguish—deservedly, maybe, as he has after all cheated death—when he pulls away and wraps his arms around his lover. 

“Did you miss me?” he teases, curling his fingers around the nape of their neck. At the sight of their tears, however, his grin yields to an expression of care and concern. “Oh, no, come on now, love, it’s alright, please don’t cry… I wasn’t gone that long…”

“You were gone for three days,” the apprentice just barely manages to croak, voice thick with tears. 

“Three days?!” Julian repeats, stricken. “Has it really been that long? Oh, darling, I’m so, so sorry. That must have been absolutely awful for you. I swear, it didn’t feel that long for me. But you…” and then his voice trails off, his shock melting into a fond smile. 

“You stayed beside me,” he says, quietly, his voice full of awe. “You waited for me.”

Julian has not yet noticed Asra. He does not wish to eavesdrop, to linger hiding in the back, so he speaks up, to announce his presence… as much as to chastise Julian for his prolonged absence. “Julian, they didn’t leave your side. They haven’t even slept.”

Julian’s gaze meets Asra’s, then darts back to the apprentice. “Is that true?” he asks. Still reigning in their tears of relief, the apprentice can only smile, and nod. 

“You promised,” they whisper, quietly. They reach out and touch his face almost reverently, joy radiating on their face when they feel the warmth returning to his cheeks. “You promised you’d come back to me.”

“And come back I did!” Julian replies with a triumphant grin and a waggle of his brows. He leans in close, brushing the apprentice’s lips with his own when he tells them, “Now you’ll never get rid of me.”

That’s probably true, Asra thinks. If Julian could survive a hanging, Asra’s not sure anything will kill him. 

Perhaps Asra should be bitter. After all, he paid such a price to bring the apprentice back to himself, after the plague took them away. But now, his apprentice belongs to someone else—they and Julian belong to each other. Asra still loves them, of course. A part of him always will. Today, though… today he is only glad to see the apprentice reunited with Julian. He is so, so glad that they will not have to endure the same grief Asra felt three years ago, a terrible burden they will never have to know. 

“I found him,” Julian croons, close to the apprentice’s ear. “The Hanged Man. He was surprisingly chatty, once I did—I have so much to tell you. But first,” he says, his blush deepening, the tip of his nose trailing along the side of the apprentice’s cheek, “and most importantly… I love you,” he sighs, hands fisting in the apprentice’s clothing as he pulls them closer. “I missed you every second that I was away.”

Once more, the apprentice throws their arms around him; once more, they bury their face in his neck. Their words are muffled, but Asra does not have to hear them to know what has been said:

“I love you too, Julian.”


End file.
